


Stargazing In Dreary Skies

by Applepie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Men in Black (Movies)
Genre: Accidental de-neuralysing, Agent H - Freeform, Alien murder crime scene, Crossover, Gavin is an alien, Gen, Humour, MIB Agents, Minor Electrocution, Neuralysation, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), ex-MIB Hank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-09-14 19:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applepie/pseuds/Applepie
Summary: What the Men in Black would give to know that the RK800 model’s charging port was an accidental de-neuralyser in the making.(In which Hank remembers some forgotten memories, and suddenly nothing in the world is as it seems.)





	1. Open up your eyes and see

 

It turned out that the RK800 model's charging port was an accidental de-neuralyser in the making.

Laying on the ground with a singed beard, Hank absentmindedly imagined how the world would freak out to the news of extraterrestrial lifeforms if they couldn't even accept the sentient beings they created themselves.

Genocide part two, probably. Except with less pacifism, because Robo-Jesus was a one-of-a-kind sort of peaceful that no one could find elsewhere in the galaxy.

Would fucking serve humans right.

Deviants were harmless compared to some of the shit out there. Not that Connor's doe-eyed, kicked puppy-dog gaze didn't have the same persuasive power as being threatened with acid spit.

"-ank?  _Hank_!"

Speak of the devil.

There was a quick pattering of footsteps and a solid thunk as Connor dropped hastily to his knees beside Hank's prone form.

Hank groaned, stirring at last, lest the android fell into full-blown panic. "'M fine, I'm fine," Hank muttered, swatting off gentle hands.

As it was, Connor's LED whirled a constant yellow. "Lieuteniant, I must insist. You've just been electrocuted with a high current. Are you experiencing visual or audio problems? Paralysis? My sensors detect dsypnea and irregular heartbeat. It would be best to contact paramedics-"

"Kid, shut up."

Hank didn't need medical personnel invading his home ass o'clock at night.

That's what he got for finally deciding to be productive for once and attempting to clean the house. He should've just let the mess be.

Unfortunately, Connor made it his habit to tidy around now that he was living with him, and Hank felt  _guilty_  for not helping the kid every now and then, because Connor was not his housekeeper android. Hank may be getting older, but he was still spry, dammit. He didn't need anyone picking up after him.

It didn't stop him from being a grumpy old man, though. "What did I tell you about leaving your shit lying around," he groaned, cutting Connor's worried rant short. His tongue felt numb in his mouth.

"I- I'm sorry, Hank. I'm certain my charging cord was coiled and stored away this morning," Connor said with a frown.

"Huh," Hank mutter, and waved off the unnecessary apology. He wasn't about to go around doubting the android with perfect memory; if Connor thought he stored it away, then he likely did.

There was more than one troublemaker in this household.

Hank pushed himself up with Connor's help and eyed Sumo. The St. Bernard whined and trodded towards him, planting a wet nose against his bare arm.

"You dumb thing," Hank said exasperatedly, flapping Sumo's ears.

"Sumo!" Connor gasped, and stared at the dog in betrayal, "I thought you were a good boy."

Sumo barked innocently back.

Hank snorted to himself. Oh, Sumo was a good boy alright. He was lazy, overweight, and could accidentally de-neuralyse his owner. What more could anyone want in a pet? Hank should be grateful at least his stupid dog was actually a stupid dog, and not some Remoolian in disguise.

The existence of aliens made everything so much more complicated.

Expending far too much effort, Hank managed to eventually roll back onto his feet. He dusted his hands in a futile attempt to shake off the lingering tingles, before shuffling his way out of the living room. The damp washcloth he'd been using laid abandoned on the carpet, soaking a stain Hank really couldn't care less about. Out of sight, out of mind - hell if he was going to dwell on his embarrassment.

"Next time," Hank declared, dropping breathlessly onto the kitchen chair, "I'm not touching this crap with anything but the fucking duster." He paused. "Better yet, let's forget cleaning entirely. I was fine living in a pigsty before you came along."

"It is unhygienic and deleterious to your health," Connor refuted disapprovingly. "I'd detected various strains of Salmonella and Campylobacter, to name a few, on the first day I stayed over."

"That's what you get for going around licking my walls."

"I did not!" Connor said, indignant. His LED was still yellow, but the bantering seemed to calm him down.

Hank would've felt more for the kid, if his head wasn't still spinning from the influx of information. He kneaded a palm against his temple, useless as the motion was. All the while, Hank wondered how he never realised just how hollow his life had felt up until now.

He'd always written off the abnormal fuzziness in the memories of the former half of his life as a result of old-age. Neither had he thought to question how mundane and stereotypical his false past had seemed, obviously the result of some MIB agent's lack of creativity when it came to creating replacement memories. Retrospectively, the hints were obvious. Just like his frequent impulse to sit in Riverside Park at night to stare blankly into the starry sky.

Hank reminisced, full of stories that would sound eccentric and delirious to anyone else.

Connor made another sound of worry to his silence. "Are you certain you are alright, Hank?"

A smile quirked the corner of his lips as he chuckled breathily. "Yeah, just knocked some memory loose." He made a vague gesture. "One hell of a headache. Not as bad as a hangover, though," he added optimistically, not that Connor saw it as such.

His LED spun a circle, then he was up beside Hank, ushering him to his bedroom. "I contacted Captain Fowler and acquired a sick day for the both of us tomorrow."

"Eh. Can androids even get sick?" Hank said skeptically, but didn't resist. He was too tired to complain. He could never do much to change Connor's mind when he was an android on a mission, anyways. He never failed his mission, or some shit like that. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that letting Connor manhandle him into unnecessary rest was the last push for Connor's LED to flicker back to an even blue. The tight crease between Connor's eyebrows finally smoothened out to a delicate expression Hank much more preferred to the distress. "And here I thought you were aiming for a gold star attendance sticker."

"Since you insisted against the hospital, you will need someone present to ensure there are no lasting effects from the electrocution," Connor replied.

Hank was rather pleased with the lasting effects, thanks.

"Yeah, yeah. Just say you want to skip work. I'm a bad influence on you."

"I cannot deny you are a bad influence," Connor said softly, fondly, even as he tucked Hank in.

"Well, took long enough to corrupt you," Hank chuckled. He watched Connor fidget by the foot of his bed, before undoubtedly remembering Hank's multiple complaints about him standing around like a looming statue and giving him heart attacks in the middle of the night, and moved to lean against the window instead. "I supposed I should probably corrupt you with something more meaningful, huh? Have you ever stargazed, Connor?" Hank continued impulsively, staring past him, through the blinds, and into the endlessly flickering abyss in the sky.

"Can't say I have."

"You would love it," Hank said. "It's a fucking huge world out there. Full of mystery and wonder and all that fun stuff. You'll never know what you'll find."

Hank couldn't wait for the day Connor understood  _exactly_  what he meant.

 

* * *

 

Hank really didn't expected his life to be any different.

He remembered the existence of aliens, sure, but he was no longer MIB - not his jurisdiction. Navigating DPD politics was hell enough, and with the Detroit evacuation still affecting the workforce, he was overworked, sleep-deprived, and already sick of dealing with both human and android related cases. He didn't need to voluntarily add alien related cases to his busy schedule.

He retired for a reason.

And then Gavin Reed had the brilliant idea to go head-to-head with a suspected murderer, who was not only twice his size, but also high as a fucking kite on Red Ice.

The kid had a death wish.

To be fair, Gavin hadn't explicitly gone out of his way to look for trouble. Gavin had stormed off to the second story of the house once he realised he had to share his crime scene with Hank and Connor. Turned out the first officer hadn't done a good job securing the scene and the suspect was still inside.

Hank swore the moment he heard the loud bang above them, hand on his service weapon.

Connor spun sharply from the dead body. "Detective Reed!" the android said needlessly, staring overhead.

"Yeah. Stay back," Hank murmured lowly, leading the way up the stairs. Stealth was unnecessary as Gavin and the perp - Martin Schein, born March 23 1999, criminal record involving multiple accounts of assault, property damage, and possession of Red Ice with intent to distribute - barreled into the hallway. They grappled uncoordinatedly, slamming backs and limbs into all obstacles in their path.

Then Schein was at Gavin's back, arms wrapped around him, held tight to hold Gavin from reaching around.

"Freeze. DPD. Hands in the air," Hank barked.

There was a slam as Gavin backed Schein into the hallway bookcase with a heavy shove. For a quick second it looked as though it was all over at last, until the fucker reached for a hidden pistol from behind the shelf and held it to Gavin's temple.

"Don't fucking move," Schein roared. "Back off! Or I'll shot his brain out!"

He swung an arm around Gavin's neck, pulling him close and tight until the veins in Gavin's throat throbbed as he struggled for breath. The gun dug deeper into skin.

"Christ. Yeah yeah," Hank said pacifyingly. "I got it. Backing off now."

Hank lowered his weapon and shot a glance to Connor who shook his head minutely. Damn, what could he do if even the most advanced prototype couldn't move without putting Reed into more danger.

He needed to buy more time. "Why don't you lower your weapon? No one needs to get hurt here," Hank tried to reason. Even before Connor's LED flickered yellow, Hank knew he'd messed up. Should've left the talking to the programmed negotiator, who, most likely had been in the middle of calculating the best route before Hank opened his big fat mouth.

"Get  _hurt_?" Schein laughed, warbled with an unstable shrillness. "The only ones getting hurt are you fucking shitholes." Gavin grunted as the man jostled him. "You can't touch me! I can do whatever I want," he declared boldly.

The gun shook in Schein's hand from the high, or excitement, Hank couldn't tell. But that twitchy finger of his was much too close to the trigger for his liking. He was acting more and more unhinged by the second from his perceived victory over the police.

Connor's LED blinked red once.

"And what is it that you want, Martin?" Connor asked quickly, calm - too calm, really, because Hank hadn't lived with the kid this long without being able to tell he was feeling distressed from whatever his preconstructed simulations showed him.

Everything happened too fast.

 _"Don't pretend you care!_ " Schein screamed, eyes blood-red. The muzzle jammed into Gavin's face. Connor's LED cycled red once more as he rushed forward, trying to prevent the inevitable. Hank's own reaction time was only a minute slower, but he already knew it was a futile attempt.

And then something darted between Gavin's legs.

Schein yelped and toppled. The gun went off inches from Gavin's cheek, searing a thin red cut instead of the anticipated splatter of brain juice. Gun forgotten, Schein scrambled into the wall in fear.

Connor grabbed the man and twisted his arms behind his back, cuffs ready.

Schein didn't even appear to register him.

"What the fuck. What  _the fuck_ , man. What the fucking hell was that?!" Schein tugged against the restrictions, backing from Gavin as much as he could, but Connor's hold on him kept him in place. "Get him the hell away from me. He's a freak! There was something there - a fucking tentacle or some shit-"

"Alright, shut him up, tin can. He's as high as fuck," Gavin said dismissively.

Connor tightened his hold. "You have the right to remain silent," he began professionally.

"Listen to me! He's not human," Schein scrambled to say. "Didn't you see-" Connor tilted his head. He was unmoving, and his facial expression only creased slightly into a frown, but the LED on his temple betrayed his churning mind.

Gavin snorted, "Then what am I, android? No, that's the plastic detective hauling your ass out of here. You're blind as well as hallucinating out of your damn mind, huh."

"You-"

"Just how much Red Ice were you smoking?" Gavin sneered. "Give a good reason not to chuck you in the drunk tank for a few hours."

"Connor, take him away," Hank interrupted.

For a moment, the android looked hesitantly between Detective Reed and the raving criminal, showing no desire to comply. Hank raise a brow pointedly. "Understood, Lieutenant," he said at last with a look of his own, and Hank wondered what to tell Connor when he inevitably pressed for answers.

What he wouldn't give for a neuralyser.

Hank let out a long, exhausted sigh. Once Connor was out of sight, Gavin turned to stare suspiciously at him, unnaturally stiff.

Hank rolled his eyes. "Well, that happened. S'hat why you hate androids?" he asked candidly, with the dismissive air of someone so done for the day. He gave zero fucks to being subtle. "You can hide your freaky extra appendages by convincing humans we're crazy, but androids are basically goddamn video cameras on legs."

Connor was probably reviewing the footage as they spoke. Fortunately for Gavin, Connor had been entirely at the wrong angle to see anything discriminating. Not Hank, though.

"The fuck are you talking about. You honestly think I have…  _tentacles?_ " he snorted like it was the stupidest thing he heard. Which, to be fair, probably was.

"Of course not," Hank said, then paused unnecessarily. "But I do know a Phukilian tail when I see one."

Gavin startled. The spiteful humour on his face drained out as quickly as it came. Hank was strangely satisfied. "What-" the Detective shot a glance towards the stairs, to confirm Connor was earshot away, before turning back. "How do you know," he demanded.

"About Phukilians or aliens in general?"

Gavin glowered. His tail was present once more, swinging threateningly behind him, awaiting Hank's answer. It was a reptilian looking thing, with sharp edges and more muscle strength than anything Hank could muster. Probably faster too. Did Hank mention he was retired? Why did he still have to deal with this alien bullshit?

"Calm the fuck down, Reed," Hank said, eyes following each sweep of his tail. "I was part of the organisation that issued your license and human passport when you arrived on Earth."

The skeptical scowl he received was entirely uncalled for. "You're ex-MIB?" Gavin said doubtfully. "Really."

"Why is that so hard to believe," Hank groused.

"I thought they neuralyzed the shit out of you guys when you left."

True enough.

Hank shrugged noncommittally. Hell if he would tell Gavin he electrocuted himself on Connor's charging port like an idiot, though. Connor knowing was mortifying enough.

"I can't imagine you in a suit," Gavin added insolently, eyeing the colourful hippy shirt he had on. Despite his words, his tail coiled up and out from sight behind his leather jacket, and he visibly relaxed. Hank would feel more insulted if he didn't already know his clothes were the bane of all fashion.

Hank said wirily, "It was the last suit I ever wore."

Meanwhile, outside, the sound of a car rumbled from the house, transporting Schein in whatever cruiser Connor decided to throw him in. Which meant Connor was on his way up again. Gavin tensed once more.

If Gavin wasn't such an asshole on a daily basis, Hank would've felt worse from seeing him in this constant state of agitation, so worried to be found out. As it was, it served him right, and probably gave the unfeeling bastard a sense of how the androids felt during the android Revolution.

Karma and all that.

Gavin whipped towards him urgently. "Does he know?" he demanded, eyes trained on the stairs for signs of brunet hair and glowing LED.

Hank shrugged, but answered truthfully. "Connor? The kid can barely deal with being deviant. I don't need to spring aliens on him as well."

Gavin nodded, mostly to himself, as if trying to find reassure in the words. Then slowly the arrogant stance Gavin typically adopted edged its way back into existence. "Like it's even legal," he scoffed, and with his alien tail hidden, if Hank didn't know better, this would've seemed like any other scathing interaction between the two of them before the shocking revelation. "Aren't there rules against revealing alien existence to the general public?"

Sure. Also rules like being neuralysed once retired. Clearly Hank was above rules now.

"Who's going to tell?" he said with a smirk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I rewatch MIB, I end up writing another crossover... But come on, how can you say no to the idea of Agent H?
> 
> Also, Phukilian-> Phuk-> Phuck. hahaha, get it? What better alien species for Gavin hahaha


	2. What you see is not what you get

Hank and Connor were relatively early for once when they pulled up to the crime scene in Hank's ratty old car.

Connor reviewed the preliminary report on the corner of his HUD as he ducked out of the car. The view before them was a small, one-story home, cordoned off by holographic police tape.

“Victim’s name is Peter Carbonari,” Connor recited, because between Hank being forced awake too early and the lack of coffee in his system, the probability that Hank paid him any attention the first time around was in the single digits. “Neighbour called it in. She reported hearing inhuman noises coming from Carbonari’s house at around seven forty-three this morning. She found his door wide open and Carbonari peeled open in the kitchen.”

“Peeled open?” Hank questioned, heaving himself out of the driver's seat.

“Those were the neighbour's exact words,” Connor replied crisply.

“Right. Because humans are fucking bananas.” Hank rolled his eyes. “And this is considered an android crime because someone heard some funky noises and witnessed a gruesome death?”

Connor joined the Lieutenant's side, lips pressed to a line. “I agree, the rationale leading to this conclusion is severely lacking. It undermines the efforts Markus took for deviants to be treated fairly and equal to humans. ‘Inhuman’ is vague and should not immediately equate to android involvement.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Hank grumbled. “I could still be asleep if people weren’t so fucking prejudice.”

Connor quirked a quick smile, ignoring the Lieutenant's skewed sense of priority because he'd long learnt Hank always put his all into his job despite his lack of perceived interest or care.

They approached the police tape.

There was a young officer just beyond, hand held to her mouth, face pallid. Connor gave a courtesy scan, noting her accelerated heartbeat. Ellie Burts, born 06/04/12, rookie officer, recent graduate from the Academy.

“Are you alright, Officer Burts?” Connor enquired, his social protocols kicking in.

She nodded weakly, breathing clearly regulated. “I- I just wasn't prepared for…” she waved her hand vaguely towards the house, “ _that._ I didn't even know it was possible.”

Connor perked, head tilted as he reassessed what exactly ‘peeled open’ could imply.

“What do we have?” Hank cut in impatiently, and it was clear his reputation preceded him when Burts snapped to attention at once.

 “Lieutenant! Nothing new, sir,” she said in a rush, “The coroner just arrived and is taking a look at the body now.”

“Great.” Hank shuffled around the woman, gesturing towards Connor. “Come on, might as well see what all this fuss is about.”

“Coming, Lieutenant!”

“Don't need to sound _too_ excited there, Connor.”

“Some needs to compensate from _your_ lack of enthusiasm,” Connor answered cheekily, still inordinately pleased at being capable of banter, and Hank huffed a laugh behind him.

They approached the house, quickly given access with a nod from Hank.

They slipped through the doorway, down the long straight corridor until they reached the kitchen. Ruth Pacino, the coroner, was kneeled in front of what remained of Carbonari - an outer shell of flabby, floppy skin.

Peeled indeed.

Connor analysed the corpse with unadulterated interest. Hank's stared umovingly, face unreadable.

“Fuck.”

Pacino was scowling into the corpse, lips curled downwards even as she turned towards the two of them. “This makes no sense!” she complained in a low growl. “What even is this? It’s like someone just skinned him, but his skin was just a rubber suit. Is this even human?”

At least the android call was warranted - maybe.

“Is CyberLife experimenting different ways for androids to don their skin?” Pacino hazarded a guess.

“Not that I am aware of,” Connor replied promptly, already running a search. Perhaps another company was responsible, though, because the synthetic fluid developed by Kamski was patented by CyberLife.

Connor scanned the skin. It was oddly detailed. The fingerprints were a match to Carbonari, if not slightly deformed. “If I may?” Connor offered, arm extended, fingers eager to prod the remains.

“Be my guest,” Pacino said - pleaded, really.

Hank squeezed his eyes shut as Connor approached. “Ugh, there goes my breakfast,” he muttered, none too discreetly, and Connor retaliated by deliberately keeping his fingers in his mouth for longer than necessary.

A series of chemical formulas scrolled through Connor’s HUD. He rattled them off reflexively, smoothly reading unnecessarily long scientific names that had Hank's head rolling dazed.

“English, Connor,” Hank sighed, cutting him off.

“It’s made up of polymers similar to those found in gum and synthetic rubbers,” Connor said without missing a beat. Then he deflated a little and frowned. “However, I am uncertain of any other composition. It is unidentifiable to my programs. I am receiving error messages, as though it should not even exist? But that's impossible-”

Was there a minor glitch in his systems?

Hank shrugged off Connor's confusion. “Well, whatever. We can get back to that later. Or the Doctor can do her own work, and we do ours.” He pulled out his tablet. “Do you have the ‘how’ yet?”

“On it, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, after a pause. He spun on his heel obediently; Hank was right, they could always resume the problem once everything else was figured out.

Connor halted the unfinished analysis in favour of investigating the room, eyes roving carefully from the kitchen to the front door. Familiar programming initialised, locating and highlighting relevant clues for him to follow up on.

Hank had no such abilities, but he swept over the scene in his own way, no less thorough. As it was, the Lieutenant was currently loitering by the front door, glancing through the piles of unopened mail to get an idea of Carbonari's character. Connor joined him, though more interested in identifying the composition of the dirt on the welcome mat.

He propped the front door open and lowered himself on one knee.

Considering how much Hank complained, it was really no surprise that Hank developed a habit of looking away anytime Connor’s fingers so much as reached out while at a crime scene.

With a quirked lip, Connor continued his analysis of the sediment, pulling up a map of Detroit to cross-reference the collected data.

And then his peripheral sensors alerted him to unfamiliar figures crossing the police tape.

Connor's posture straightened.

There were two men present, neither part of the DPD. Both were impeccably dressed, even more formal than the pressed suit and tie Connor had acquired to replace his old Cyberlife-issued attire.

More so than the clothes, it was the authority in their stride that caught Connor's attention, confident, as though they belonged at the crime scene rather than two unknown trespassers.

Regardless, though, they would be stopped. As it was, Officer Burts was making her way towards the two.

Connor shifted the tracking to his subprocessor as his attention focused back onto churning through possible reconstructions of Carbonari’s death.

The route and mode of entry was simple enough; Carbonari had voluntarily opened his door for his assailant when they'd rang the doorbell. It was the actual attack itself that had Connor's processors near overclocking, because what sort of weapon could be used to do that kind of damage?

Connor swept his eyes across the scene once more, LED cycling a harsh yellow as his programs ran their taxing calculations.

Officer Burts was speaking with the two men, gesturing as she spoke, though too far for Connor to register anything audio. Then the men flashed her a badge, stopping her in her track.

Officer Burts retreated.

Connor paused momentarily at the sight _._

The distance was too great for Connor to get a good look at the contents of their badges. Unfortunately, equally so for a quick facial scan.

Perhaps Connor shouldn't have stared so long.

The two men, originally surveying the crime scene, froze at the sight of him. They honed onto him almost immediately - though that was nothing new, Connor supposed. It seemed the sight of an Android detective was still a novelty amongst humans.

As it was, the younger man's eyes widened and he overtly nudged his partner, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Connor took a discrete step to the side, into the shadows, though it wasn't much help hiding his form, as his LED shone brightly like a beacon.

But despite so, their eyes didn't stray. Perhaps he'd miscalculated. Either they were excited at the sight of the doorway instead, or - _Hank_.

Hank had been kneeling directly behind Connor.

Keeping his attention on the two, Connor quietly left the entryway and took steady steps to approach Officer Burts.

He intercepted her with a polite smile, though if Hank saw, he would likely call it one of his fake, pre-programmed facial expressions - in less tactful words. “Apologies, Officer Burts. I would like to enquire the identities of the two men you allowed on site?”

Burts turned, startled. “Oh, hello Connor. Yeah, they're FBI. I was just about to let Lieutenant Anderson know about them.”

Something strained in Connor’s systems. He was feeling uneasy, Connor decided, analysing the sensation. Uneasy and alarmed.  

Unsurprising, because Hank didn't have the best standing with the FBI. Not after he punched one of their agents. Not after he punched one of their agents for Connor's sake, that was.

He rearranged his priorities.

“Thank you,” Connor said distantly. “I will go see what they require.”

Connor adjusted his route, rounding about until his trek over deliberately crossed the two men’s sights. It was no coincidence that his entire body blocked off their direct view of the Lieutenant.

They immediately lowered their voices when they spotted him approaching, but Connor was quite apt at reading their lips from this distance.

_“-doesn't matter as long as he gives me his autograph.”_

_“He doesn't know who you are. He doesn't know who he was.”_

_“Does it matter? It's H, man. He's a damn legend after K and J! The guys at HQ will be so jealous.”_

_“We'll continue this later. Act professional.”_

_“Yes'sir.”_

Conner diligently refrained from appearing as though he'd been eavesdropping, though he hadn't gathered much from the endeavor.

He didn't have the context required to make plausible conjectures. Unless Connor took this _Agent H_ as Hank, except Connor had been given full access to Hank’s private files when he was assigned as the Lieutenant’s partner, and he knew Hank had no connection with the FBI.

“May I help you?” Connor said, situating himself in front of the men. Out of instinct he started a facial scan.

“Hello, I’m FBI Special Agent Ellson,” the elder man said, before he gestured over to the other, “Special Agent Peewee.”

Connor froze.

“That's an unfortunate name,” Hank chortled from behind Connor. It seemed the Lieutenant had made his way towards them not soon after Connor's arrival, without Connor noticing either. No surprise, focused as he was on the red that suddenly splayed across his HUD. “Lieutenant Anderson,” Hank said, ignorant to Connor's plight, “and this is my partner Connor.”

“Pleasure.”

“Uh huh, can't say the same. What, the FBI here to snatch another case from under our noses again?” Hank said, though without the expected animosity. It was a sure difference from the rageful spittle caused from Special Agent Perkins’ name alone.

Agent Ellson replied amicably, “Rest assured the FBI have no plans to snatch anything. We’re only here to share some vital information on your victim.”

“Oh?”

Agent Peewee's gaze was practically sparkling when he looked over at them, for no discernible reason.

Connor swiped the blinking notification from his HUD and freed some processing power for the unexpected.

“Lieutenant, may I speak with you in private?” Connor said, face carefully neutral.

Hank glanced at him briefly from the corner of his eyes. “In a minute, Connor,” he said with a casual, dismissive wave. He leveled Connor in a softer gaze for a brief second, a look the android couldn't fully decipher. “Let me grab the info first,” he continued, turning back to the agents, eyebrows pointedly raised.

“It’s best if you gather all your officers and we’ll explain it to everyone at once.”

“That important, huh,” Hank said dryly, visibly apathetic despite his acquisition. He sighed. “Fine, I’ll have everyone out by the shade in five,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, towards the side of the house.

“The FBI appreciates your cooperation.”

“I’m sure the FBI does,” he snorted without sparing them a second glance. Hank grabbed Connor by the elbow and steered him back to Carbonari's residence. Connor allowed himself to be led, processors more focused on the two they left behind than where he was headed.

Hank barked at every officer they came across, directing them outside, waving off their confusion with a useless shrug.

Connor did not understand. Hank rarely even took orders from their own Captain, but he seemed intent on following these so-called FBI's word.

 _So-called_ because they were not.

“Hank,” Connor probed impatiently. It'd been longer than a minute.

Hank turned wordlessly, stare unreadable. “Well, alrighty then,” he said at last, finally giving Connor his full attention. “So what was it you wanted to gossip about?”

Connor jerked. “I do not gossip.”

“Really? Because you couldn't've made it more obvious you wanted to gossip about them.”

“I had a valid concern,” he corrected, lip pursed. Then, because they'd already wasted so much time, bluntly revealed, “Hank, I cannot identify those two.”

“Now you know how those of us without the literal internet in our brains deal with new people,” Hank said without a second thought.

He did not realise the significance.

Connor told him as such.

“You don't understand, Lieutenant,” Connor stressed as patiently as he could, considering the circumstance. He paced before the man. “I am connected to the DPD and FBI databases as well as the remnants of Cyberlife. If I am unable to identify these men, it implies they _do not exist_.”

Hank made the appropriate reactions - widened eyes, and a hiss pulled from his throat - but it was not genuine.

Connor studied the Lieutenant with narrowed eyes. “You do not appear surprised,” he concluded.

Hank's facade dropped immediately, like he couldn't  be bothered. The man shrugged. “They’re Special Agents,” he said idly.

“I fail to see how the title provides a suitable explanation. FBI Agents are no exception to having proper identification and a birth certificate.”

 _“_ They're _Special_ Special Agents,” Hank offered, lips curled upwards, twitching.

Connor was not amused. “Despite what you may think, repeating ‘special’ multiple times does not strengthen your argument.”

“Don't worry about it,” Hank said. “You'll see.”

“But I don't,” Connor informed him, eyebrows dipped.

“You will,” Hank only said once more, undaunted. The grin on his lips morphed into a sly smirk as he spun on his heels and headed back towards the door. The remaining officers in the house had already evacuated outside for the FBI's impromptu meeting. Hank and Connor were the last two to arrive.

With a quick report to Agent Ellson, Hank ducked out of the way. He inched out of earshot from the two ‘FBI Agents’, nudging Connor to follow.

“Come on, Connor. We’re going to the back like the cool kids in class,” Hank said, blithe grin in place. But under those deceptively casual words, something determined and sharp glinted in Hank's eyes.

Connor obeyed with little fuss.

They weaved through the throng of DPD personnel, eventually ducking behind Officer Hugo, a rather burly built man who easily made up two of Connor.

Without warning, Hank suddenly slipped a pair of shades over Connor's nose.

Connor blinked in confusion and moved to remove them. There was enough cover under the shadow of the house, and androids had no need for the protection sunglasses offered for human eyes. Not that Hank normally cared for such things?

Hank tsked at his movement. “Keep them on,” Hank ordered, before fishing around in his pocket for another pair for himself.

He gave Connor a wink and shoved his hands into his pockets, slouching.

“Lieutenant, I must inform you it is too late in your life to start cultivating a bad boy imagine.”

“Fuck off.”

With that said, Hank slouched further, folding himself inwards until he was hidden behind the sea of his co-workers. He raised an eyebrow pointedly at Connor, a wordless prompt. Confused, but never one to doubt Hank, Connor awkwardly followed suit.

He'd only pulled his limbs to a comfortable position when a flash of bright light engulfed the scene.

A high pitched screeching jolted through his audio processors. Connor flinched. His vision flickered. Everything stalled. He could vaguely hear Special Agent Ellson speaking over it all, but nothing distinct registered.

It was overwhelming and claustrophobic all at once.

_> Warning: corrupt data._

A soft whine emitted unwittingly from his throat, and he stumbled in spot.

Hank was on him immediately. He yanked the sunglasses off of him, staring him in the eyes, still bent in that awkward angle.

“Connor? You alright? Shit, I should've known it affected androids differently,” he hissed lowly, under the hum of the other officers.

> _Initiate systems diagnosis._

“What does?” The question rolled from his voice modulator, staticky and a millisecond slower than the movement of his mouth. It was indistinguishable to Hank, but Connor could detect it, so jarring against his usual perfectly calibrated systems.

_> Diagnosis complete: all systems normal._

Connor knitted his brows. His LED spun red.

 _That_ , Hank could notice.

“Do you remember what happened?” he grilled forcefully.

Connor dutifully answered Hank, registering the tremor of worry in his voice. Absentmindedly he wondered if Hank knew anything about the warning glitch in his system, because as far as he could tell, everything was running at proper capacity.

“Yes. You directed me to the back of the crowd, where you equipped an unnecessary pair of sunglasses on the both of us, and reject my reasonable attempt to remove them.”

“And before that?” It was telling when the Lieutenant didn't even crack a smile at Connor's attempt to be cheeky.

“We were called out for a possible android related homicide. Neither Dr. Pacino nor myself were able to discern how Carbonari was so-called peeled open. Thereafter the imposter Agents Ellson and Peewee gave orders to gather the DPD for a briefing,” Connor recited professionally.

Finally, Hank released a sigh, and his shoulders slumped bonelessly, like a weight had been lifted.

“Thank fucking god. Nearly gave me a heart attack,” the man muttered to himself in relief. “I wouldn't know what else to try if sunglasses turned out to be a bust.”

Around them, the other officers wandered off, eyes distant and unseeing. Methodically, they gathered their equipment and packed to leave. There was no fuss, no argument.

Connor was bewildered.

Connor _knew_ the DPD. They never went quietly when the FBI tried to take charge over their cases. Nor could the FBI kick them entirely out of the case like this.

The wrongness sent Connor's LED flashing red, fingers gripped tightly around the coin in his pocket.

Hank spun on his heels. “Com'on, Connor,” he said, gesturing with a lazy jerk of his head.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. Turns out the neighbour overreacted. Carbonari works at a small research development company and brought this synthetic skin home to work on, despite company policy. It's been reported and will be dealt with internally, remember?”

Connor retrieved the memory of Agent Ellson addressing the gathered officers, but the vision was broken and full of static snow, and there was something oddly off between the visual and audio files.

Yet his diagnosis still registered nothing wrong in his systems.

Brows drawn together, Connor said slowly, cautiously, scrutinizing Hank, “But that is false? That is only what _Agent_ Ellson told the DPD. There is no evidence to his words. Carbonari is a Custodial Supervisor, not an Engineer. Furthermore, he is still missing, and the skin is made of an entirely unidentifiable substance. There is no-”

Connor cut off when the government records he'd pulled up on Carbonari refreshed with the corresponding false data.

“I-I don’t understand,” he stammered, looking completely lost.

“That’s how it is,” Hank said with a chuckle. “Mysterious, huh.”

“This is not a mystery, this is blatant forgery,” Connor corrected.

“Is it, though? Not according to Carbonari's official files.”

“Those files have been modified.”

“By the government.”

“That is inconclusive,” Connor rebutted, however even his programs could find no hint of illegal hacking that would explain the sudden revision.

Hank smirked knowingly. “Kid, just accept it. What did I tell you; life is full of mystery and wonder and all that fun stuff.”

He ushered Connor into his car, where the android sat reluctantly, still ready to reclaim the crime scene if it proved necessary. Connor pulled his coin out and rolled it over his knuckles in silence. The coin gave an audio ‘ _twang’_ as it flipped through the air.

“No,” Connor finally said, having cross-referenced Hank's words to his memory bank, “I believe you said that about the stars.”

“Exactly.” Hank grinned, full of mischievousness and youthfulness that made the wrinkles on his skin look more like mere laughter lines. It took years off his age. “Kid, you have a lot to learn about life _on those stars_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent H was the new K. Don't tell me you can't image Hank an epic MIB agent!
> 
> Also, writing Connor is hard. I keep slipping into Sherlock, because that's what I think of whenever I consider Connor's character.


End file.
